“Just one dance, then we can leave.”
It’s strange to see Daimon in public. No matter how many minutes and hours pass, I find myself wondering if the man sitting next to me, holding my hand, and, now, dancing with me, is truly the Daimon I’ve been investigating the past week. I mean, he looks and sounds just like him, but I find it hard to believe that this man who attends benefits for fallen police officers and speaks of the devastating beauty in the world is the same person I’ve come to know as the perpetrator of so much evil.
I clasp my left hand in his right, then I place my right hand on his shoulder as he places his on my waist. I’ve never danced with a man, or anyone for that matter. But, as I said before, Daimon has changed me. Forever.
He moves slowly, side to side, going easy on me. I only step on his feet twice, but that’s quite enough for me. It’s time to set my plan into motion.
I scrunch my eyebrows together and clutch my hand to my chest. My breath coming in shallow wheezes.
“I can’t be here,” I whisper. “Everyone’s looking at me.”
He looks confused. “Are you having a panic attack?”
“I don’t know. Please … get me out of here.”
He slides his arm around my waist and guides me back inside the hotel. He begins leading me toward the ballroom where the award ceremony took place, but I dig my heels into the carpet and shake my head.
“No, no. There are people in there.”
“Come this way.”
He leads me to another door labeled “International Lounge.” The door is locked when he tries it, but he pulls something out of his back pocket, looks around, and quickly picks the lock in less than sixty seconds. He closes the door behind us and the room is pitch black, but he doesn’t attempt to find a light switch. He just takes me into his arms and rubs my back.
“Is that better?”
The hors d’oeurves we ate outside swirl inside my belly as I try to block out the conflicting voice in my head telling me to stop. It’s not too late to back out. There has to be a method to his madness other than sheer cruelty.
I reach up and grab his face so I can kiss him.
He pulls back. “What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like I’m doing? I’m trying to fuck you.”
“I thought you were having a panic attack.”
“I just wanted to get you alone.”
“If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask.” His voice is heavy with suspicion. He knows I’m up to something.
Such a worthy adversary. I’d expect nothing less of him.
I drop to my knees and begin undoing his pants. “Can I please fuck you?”
“I think you should get up so we can talk.” This is what his mouth says, but the erection growing inside his pants is singing a different tune.
I slowly slide his zipper down and he grabs a chunk of my perfectly coifed hair. I’m certain he’s going to yank me up so we can talk, but he doesn’t. Men are so weak when a blow-job is being offered.
I place my hand on his boxer briefs, right over his thickening cock, and I massage his erection through the fabric until I know he must be bursting with frustration.
“Just a minute,” I whisper, pulling up the skirt of my white dress, I reach into my panties and retrieve the syringe.
I moan as if I’m pleasuring myself, but I’m really just trying to cover up the sound of the cap coming off the needle. I let out a high-pitched whimper as I lean forward and kiss the bare skin above his boxers. Then I drive the needle into his thigh.
“Fucking bitch!”
The back of his hand swipes me so hard against my cheek, I see flashes of color as I fall to the floor.
“What was that?” he roars. “What have you done?”
“It’s not what I’ve done, Daimon. It’s what you’ve done.”
I stand from the carpet and swiftly remove the brown contact from my left eye so I can see him. I don’t think he can see me, but he’s looking straight at me. Chest heaving, eyes full of seething anger.
“I told you we needed to talk, Alex. This is not what I meant.” He takes a step toward me and I can already see that he’s a little off balance. “What did you give me? Tell me now!”
“The same thing you gave my father.” He stops moving. “But in a much smaller dose. And I injected it into your muscle so you have about five minutes to listen. Because you’re not going to talk, Daimon. Only I get to talk tonight.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t even know your father.”
“Shut up! You have no right to talk about my father. You murdered him! Right in front of my face, you sick bastard. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the impostor following me? Smoking the wrong cigarettes!”
“Your father kidnapped you when you were a child. That is not your real father.”
“Stop lying!”
He takes another step toward me and I throw a sharp jab at his nose. But he dodges it easily and counters with a blow to my side. Right on my scar. It knocks the breath out of me and he seizes the opportunity to grab my hair and pull my face to his.
“Your father and mother kidnapped you from Princess Amica Amador of Monaco.”
I laugh in his face, ignoring the searing pain in my scalp. “You’re delusional!”
“Your real name is not Alex Carmichael. It is Alexandria Marie Thérèse Grimaldi. You are a princess, Alex! It’s time you start acting like one instead of this caged animal persona you’ve taken on.”
I spit in his face and he roars like an angry lion. “Go ahead and kill me and see what happens.”
I slide my fingers down the neckline of my dress between my breasts to retrieve a tiny, silver tape recorder and press the green button. Our voices come out in shrieks through the tiny speaker.
“Don’t fucking move … or I’ll kill you.”
“Please don’t kill me.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Even if you make it out of this room alive, if I don’t walk out with you, you’ll be walking out in handcuffs. I have an email with this digital recording set to go out to every police station and reporter in L.A. at midnight. If I don’t make it home tonight to cancel it, your life as Detective Rousseau is over.”
“You used me?”
He tightens his grip on my hair and I laugh in his face. “Rip my hair out, Daimon. Go ahead. It will just make my escape from this building that much easier once you’re dead.”
“You can’t kill me,” he says, and I can feel his grip slackening on my hair as the tranquilizer begins to kick in. “Do you know why you can’t kill me?”
“Because there are hundreds of people just a eighty yards from where we’re standing.”
“Because you love me.” He lets go of my hair and his hands drop to his side. “Go ahead, Alex. Kill me.” He bangs his fist against his chest. “Kill me! Because I was sent here to kill you and I couldn’t do it. So you might as well do it for both of us.”
“You … you’re lying.”
“No, I’m not lying. I was supposed to kill you months ago. But I couldn’t do it. And I didn’t understand why. I didn’t understand why I was supposed to kill you or why I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I decided I would try to find out who you were. Why would anyone want you dead?” His speech is becoming slurred as he drops to one knee. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Because what I found … is that you and I … we are the same, Alex.”
“I’m nothing like you.” I wipe the tears from my face as I watch him drop onto all fours.
“Yes, we are. And that’s why I fell in love with you.” His voice is barely a whisper. “And you with me.”
“I don’t love you.”
I watch in horror, trying to stifle the sound of my chest-wracking sobs as he fully collapses facedown onto the carpet. I wait another few minutes to make certain the tranquilizer has fully taken effect, then I turn him onto his back and cover my eyes with my hands as I use my foot to crush his windpipe, cutting off his oxygen.